


Chlorine Monsters

by CaramelDarling



Series: Monsters [1]
Category: Miss Peregrine's Home for Peculiar Children - Ransom Riggs
Genre: (look the book is in first person I had to write this fic in first person ok), M/M, POV First Person, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-14
Updated: 2016-08-14
Packaged: 2018-08-08 15:38:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7763470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaramelDarling/pseuds/CaramelDarling
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Something about his mud-encrusted boots and the way he let smoke curl from his lips and how the sinking sun lit his green hair reminded me of a punk, redneck James Dean."<br/>-Ransom Riggs, Miss Peregrine's Home For Peculiar Children</p>
<p>The time between Ricky and Jacob's fight and Jacob's departure to Wales told from Ricky's point of view.</p>
<p>Ricky hates him, or he wishes he did.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Chlorine Monsters

**Author's Note:**

> I recently read Miss Peregrine's Home For Peculiar Children. My review: Needed more green-haired, punk James Dean. (I mean, look at that description of him. Just look at it.)
> 
> (I have only read the first book.)

“Give him a break, Ricky. His grandpa died,” my ever generous mother says as she organizes grocery store coupons.

I smooth over the birthday party invitation and turn it over in my hands. It’s been awhile since I’ve talked to Jacob, not since that stupid fight we got into when he insulted my mom. He’s always been a little shit, but lately, it’s been so much worse.

I mean, I can’t blame Jacob for being traumatized by what he saw. I still see his hands and clothes covered in blood when I close my eyes and my stomach still hurts when I remember that horrifying second I thought it was his. And those wounds his grandpa had. I didn’t even _know_ the guy and I still have nightmares. I’ve never seen such fresh, gruesome death like that before. It’s an awful thing, to have to see your grandpa go in that way.

So, believe me, I know it’s unfair, but I can’t stand Jacob lately. He gets mad at me for the smallest of things and says things to purposely piss me off and a part of me knows he only does it to push me and his family away, but another, louder part of me seriously can’t take it anymore.

“You’re going, right?” Mom says, pointing at the invitation.

I doubt she’d be so nice if she knew what Jacob said about her.

“Yeah, fine, whatever,” I say and drop the invitation on the kitchen counter.

“Don’t forget the date!” Mom calls as I push open the front door.

As if. I know when that insufferable asshole’s birthday is.

***

Outside the grocery store Jacob worked at/will own in the future, I take a dollar from Alan and step back as he hits my car door with a golf club.

 “Dude can’t help it if he’s gone psycho,” Alan says. “He’ll be fine. His rich parents will pay for a decent shrink.”

My cigarette hangs between my lips. It sounds bad - “shrink" - coming from this guy’s mouth, but I’ve said it to Jacob too.

Jacob needs one, a psychiatrist. I meant it when I suggested he get one.

But maybe I should’ve said it differently.

“He really thinks it was a monster?” Alan laughs, grabbing the cigarette from my hand and putting it between his lips.

I should’ve gone about that better, but Jacob probably wouldn’t have listened. I know what he thinks of me - that I’m stupid, that we only hang out because I need his brain and he needs my brawn.

I tell Alan this.

“You are stupid,” Alan jokes and kisses me on the lips. “Always falling for straight guys.”

“Fuck you.”

He laughs as I put my hand out for my cigarette. “Don’t pretend that’s not why you put up with his rich ass for so long.” He hands me another dollar and lifts the golf club. “Last buck. I’ll make this one count.”

I have enough cash for a carton of milk now, thanks to Alan.

***

Me and Jacob, we were never really friends. You can’t really be friends with people who don’t like you and Jacob doesn’t like me.

I’m not sure when I realized it. Maybe I always knew. Rich, smart guys always think people like me are below them. He’s going around trying to get fired when I’m over here, unable to find or keep a decent job.

When I first met Jacob, I really, really hated him. He was everything I wasn’t. He was smart, well off, and he had a good family with a dad and a grandfather. I guess I was jealous.

Those feelings never really went away. But this one time I sat next to him in class so I could cheat off him and I saw his face while he doodled floating girls in his notebook. I don't know what it was. He looked so distant, in a way that made me feel all achy and empathetic. For a second, just that second, I thought I knew him.

So, even though I hate him most of the time, sometimes I get a glimpse of that feeling and I realize I don’t hate him, not at all.

“It’s because you’re so damn pretty,” I say to an imaginary Jacob as I wait in line to pay for a carton of milk. Just the thought of him makes me so angry I want to punch someone’s face in. Jacob doesn’t even like me as a person and here I am still thinking about him.

His parents hate me too. Maybe with semi-good reasons. I brought him home drunk from a party once.

It was his first time drinking so much and he was got so drunk I had to drag him across the yard and into my car. Before we made it, though, he threw up in the grass. Right there. In front of all these people.

A couple of girls giggled as they passed and Jacob swayed and groaned. “They were laughing at me, weren’t they?” he slurred. “ _God_ , everyone thinks I’m such a loser.”

“All right, all right,” I said. “Let’s get you to the car.” I lifted him off his feet enough to safely pass the puddle of puke and he gripped my shoulder like he was ready to be dropped.

“Fuck, you’re strong,” he said. “Bet no one laughs at you.”

“Jealous?”

“Yeah right.” He leaned in close and laughed in my face. “Punk.” His hand slid into my hair, fingers pulling lightly at the green strands. “Punk James Dean.”

His breath smelled sour, but I still thought about kissing him. That’s how you know you’re too far gone. When someone’s breath smells like alcohol and puke, but still, kissing them is all you want.

I didn’t kiss him. I dragged him into the passenger seat, buckled his seatbelt, and thought about kissing him. A lot. The whole way to his house and the whole way to mine and as I was trying to sleep. I just thought about it.

His parents weren’t happy with him and I knew they blamed me for his irresponsibility. They decided I was bad news the second they saw me and my ripped clothes and my green hair.

I’m surprised they even invited me to Jacob’s birthday party. I mean, I’m probably his only friend. I wonder if I should get him something. But what? After buying milk, I’ll only have 75 cents left on me. Besides, I’d never be able to get him anything nearly as nice as any of his family members.

And we’re not even talking.

***

The day of his party, I sit down for breakfast across my mom. We’re eating off-brand cereal and the milk I bought for us. Mom chews for a second, looking me over and trying to make out my mood.

“Make up with him, okay?” she says.

I groan.

“He’s your best friend and he just lost someone important to him. He needs you.”

“He doesn’t need me,” I reply. “And what about _me_? I’m the one who’s supposed to be mad. He’s supposed to apologize to _me_.”

Mom rolls her eyes. “Petty fights.”

I make a face at her and stuff cereal into my mouth. If Jacob doesn’t care enough, why should I? He’s just going to make a fool out of me again.

***

Going into his house always makes me feel like shit. It’s like having everything I can’t have shoved in my face - just imagine this life; never worrying about what creeps Mom has to deal with at work to put food on the table, never having to worry about putting food on the table, being on the same footing as Jacob, being the same kind of good boy, the same kind of lucky. Maybe then, I’d be more than convenient for him.

The feeling is worse today. I’m wearing torn jeans and a faux leather jacket, but everyone else is dressed in cashmere and dresses and dress shirts.

I hang by the food awkwardly, avoiding eye contact. I don’t know what I’d do if someone tried to talk to me. The last thing I need is Jacob’s aunt asking me if I plan on going to college while wearing jewelry that could feed my mom and me for months.

Jacob looks at me and I look back. For a second, I think we’re going to talk. I think he’s going to come over here and we’ll just fall back into being sort-of-friends and I’ll ask how he’s doing and if his therapy is going okay. But he doesn’t approach me and we don’t talk.

I can tell he wants to pretend we’re still BFF’s by the way he hovers, but his attention is focused on the people around us, not me. He doesn’t actually want to make up with me. I wonder if, in his eyes, this is it for us. This awkward acknowledgment of not really knowing each other.

I stick a biscuit in my pocket, not caring that someone definitely saw me. I’m getting that gross, hot pain that comes right before I get really angry at Jacob. I should just kiss him once and run for it and then never see him again. He’ll know then that this wasn’t all for me.

I wish I could kick something, but there’s nothing to kick. I curse under my breath to make myself feel better. It doesn’t work. It was only a matter of time, honestly, before this sorry excuse for a friendship dissolved like this. I shouldn’t be so upset about it, but my eyes burn.

After opening presents, Jacob goes up to his room, raw from remembering his grandfather. He holds his grandpa’s book against his chest like he’s guarding a secret, his face sad and excited and scared. I’m afraid he’s losing it and that he’s losing it alone. I want to follow him.

But no. He doesn’t need _me_. He never has. So, I just go home.

***

Alan runs a hand through my green hair. It’s growing black at the roots but touch ups are expensive. I can tell Alan wants to kiss me, but I’m not in the mood.

He senses it and doesn’t ask for affection, but he runs a finger along my cheek, down to my chin. “Are you in a bad mood because he’s going to Wales?” Alan asks.

I look past him to the dark sky above us. The grass is dry and yellow underneath me - uncomfortable sometimes - but Alan’s parents are never home and his backyard has a fence, so no one can see us.

“What the fuck’s Wales?”

“It’s in the U.K.”

Annoyed, I say, “I _know_ , shithead. I looked it up.”

“Ohh, I’m so sorry then.” He leans down to say it as if he’s going to kiss me, all tempting and flirtatious.

I blink. Don’t cry, I tell myself firmly, don’t you dare cry.

Alan pulls back, moving his hands away and lying down beside me. He sighs. “What if he meets someone over there?”

I elbow him. “Shut up.”

Undeterred, he adds, “The love of his life. Some girl with a pretty accent, long hair, boobs. What if he decides not to come back because of her?”

“As if.” I clench my hands in fists. His parents would never allow that, would they?

“Nah, you’re right. More likely he goes totally bonkers and walks right off a cliff -”

I shove him. “ _Shut the fuck up_.”

Alan looks at me, serious. “Look, Ricky, he’s so straight it disgusts me, but if you’re _so_ in love with him, you should fucking tell him.”

“You’re insane.”

“Even if he - no doubt - dumps you, it’ll be cathartic. You’ll have the chance to move on to better guys.”

“Why do you hate him so much?”

Alan shrugs, looking at the sky. “Why don’t you?”

***

I think the day I realized I wanted to do more than just rip Jacob’s clothes off was that summer day we spent swimming in his family’s pool together.

He was sitting on the edge, his feet dangling in the water as I floated on my back and watched the sky and watched him. He sipped from a can of coke, wearing wet swimming trunks, his skin glistening.

I was watching his face, the way he brushed his dark hair off his forehead and the way his eyes moved from cloud to cloud.

And it just hit me. How much I wished he thought of me as a real friend, told me his secrets, shared the things he loved with me. I realized how much I wanted to be a part of his life.

“Who’s the hottest girl you know?” I asked. To test him, maybe, or just to remind myself not to get my hopes up.

“Uhh,” he said, squinting at the sun. “Mindy McKinnon.”

Blonde, pretty if not ruthless. Could punch a hole in Jacob’s eye. I wasn’t surprised. He has a type.

“You?”

“Lanie from my math class. Don’t know her last name. Know who I’m talking about?”

“Dark hair? Glasses?”

“Yeah, her.”

Both of Jacob’s eyebrows shot up.

I swam to his side of the pool. My mouth tasted of chlorine and ash. “Surprised or something?”

He shrugged. “Didn’t know you liked girls like her.”

“Like her?”

“I don’t know. The kind of girl who wears collared dresses and drives a Mercedes.”

“What, rich good girls?” I grabbed his ankles. “I hang out with you, don’t I?” And I dragged him into the pool.

He choked and cursed at me, splashing me in the face. I laughed. He pushed my head under the water, so I grabbed his wrist and bit his arm.

“Ouch! You fucking jerk!” He swam away from me, holding his wrist.

I stuck my tongue out at him. The bite mark on his arm turned pink. He tasted like chlorine too, but warmer.

***

I drive to Jacob’s house and away multiple times. He’ll be leaving soon. I don’t know how long he’ll be gone.

Alan’s words keep jumping around in my head. I avoid him because of it.

Am I that “in love” with Jacob? He’s a stuck up asshole and sometimes I want to burn down his house, but…

But.

I write him a letter instead. It’s sappy, the first one, and it makes me gag. So I burn it. The second one turns into a hate letter, but I like it and keep it.

Too many tries later and I’m tired. I write:

_Truth is, I’m gay and I’ve sort of had the hots for you for awhile. Sorry if this is weird. Can you call me when you get this? I want to talk to you in person._

_-Ricky_

I ask Mom for a stamp and then stuff the letter into an envelope. After I’m done,  I don’t do anything. I have the day Jacob leaves marked, but I’ve only just realized he leaves in two days.

It won’t reach him in time, probably. I could just bring it over there myself, but then I’d have wasted a stamp.

Indecisive, I wait until it’s definitely too late and because I can’t convince myself to bring it to him, I stick it in the mailbox.

No turning back, I tell myself. There it is. There it goes. Jacob will call me once he gets back. He will, even if it’s just to tell me he doesn’t feel the same.

He will.


End file.
